


Weighted Spaces

by alloftheorangejuice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, BAMF!Cas, But Only 2K Words, Cas Loves Dean and Dean Doesn't Know, Embarassment, Fluff, M/M, Redemption, Slow Build, Tied-Up Dean, Truth Serum, short read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:51:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alloftheorangejuice/pseuds/alloftheorangejuice
Summary: In this short fiction, I dreamed up a different ending to the problem of Metatron scheming up his plan to take over humanity while Castiel had dwindling grace. It’s a Destiel twist that makes you think— what if it was the other way around? What if it was Dean who was willing to give up the entire shot at stopping Metatron… for one man? And what if the way he had to come clean to Cas about what happened made him come clean about much more than just that one decision? (Hello, truth serum.) This work is 2K, and a quick read. It ends... well. :) Enjoy!





	

“Cas, please don’t do this.”

 

Words only fell from Dean Winchester’s mouth in two ways. The first way was with authority and determination, the way he’d say _Sammy, listen to me_ , or _damnit, Cas, I thought you knew better than that_ , or _there is no way I’m letting you leave here to breathe another demon breath_ to Crowley. The other way, was with resignation. And this time, the way he spoke to the room, empty aside from the low-powered seraph Castiel, it was the latter.

 

“I need _answers_ , Dean,” Castiel said with his nose scrunched as tight as his fists. One hand was still clenched around the empty syringe. The other was as empty as Dean’s will to speak a lie.

 

The Winchester was tied up, Crowley style, in the middle of the floor.

 

“Not like this. Please.”

 

Dean’s voice rebounded off the bunker’s basement walls to Castiel. It felt like he was being spoken to from all sides. Dean was everywhere, in everything. But then again, it’s always been that way for the angel of Thursday.

 

“What are you hiding from us? From _me_?,” Castiel snarled.

 

“A lot of things,” Dean said as his head nodded down to loll against his chest. He could feel his chest pulling at strings in his head, the truth serum loosening his tongue and the edges of his mouth.

 

“I know you’re up to something. It’s because of you I haven’t heard anything on angel radio the last week, isn’t it? It hasn’t been silent. You did something to me, didn’t you? To cut off the communication?”

 

“Yes,” Dean immediately spat. He rolled his neck and grimaced, as if the truth was a demon beneath his skin writhing to come out.

 

“What did you do?”

 

Castiel drew closer to Dean, bringing his face within a few feet of his. He could smell Dean’s leather and whiskey scent, and the conflicting emotions inside him collided in a swell that wiped the determined look off his face for a split second.

 

But although Dean’s eyes caught the momentary glimpse, he couldn’t help his tongue.

 

“I warded you against it.”

 

“How?”

 

“The belt,” he said, voice so low it hurt.

 

Castiel’s eyebrows flicked up. He looked down at his belt, tossed the empty syringe to the side, and undid the buckle enough to twist the inside upward to look. He ran his thumb across the inner side, and felt angular carvings in its dark surface.

 

“You stole my belt,” Castiel started, looking up to Dean is disbelief. “Then you offered me yours… to use yours— it was just—“

 

“A trick, yes. Cas, _please_.”

 

“Why? Why, Dean?”

 

“Because I didn’t want you to hear angel radio. _He_ didn’t. He— _augh_!” Dean grit his teeth hard until his jaw ached from the pressure.

 

“He?” Castiel said. His mouth twisted into an angry knot. “Who is _he_?”

 

Castiel thought he knew the answer, but he couldn’t fathom that Dean would ever be on his side. Not his Dean. No. He couldn’t imagine him even doing any favors for him, or a deal. There was no way. But yet—

 

“Metatron,” Dean said.

 

Castiel’s chest heaved a small, involuntary breath that felt like the beginning of a sob, but it immediately transformed into anger.

 

Castiel launched at Dean and slammed a hand to either side of Dean’s chair, framing his face.

 

“Why does Metatron not want me to hear angel radio?,” Castiel boomed.

 

Dean shrunk in is chair, casting his eyes away from the blue ones singing a hole into his thoughts.

 

“Because he doesn’t want,” Dean started, his voice catching in his throat, “he doesn’t want you to know that the angels are calling for you. He doesn’t want you to know.”

 

Dean’s voice turns to a whisper and cracks with his last words, and it sounds a lot like a voice trying to stop from breaking down, trying to stop from crumbling into an emotion that doesn’t want to be shown.

 

“The angels? The angels are—are calling me? Why?”

 

“Because they want you to lead them in their fight against Metatron.”

 

“That’s absurd. I’m… I’m no leader,” Cas said, shaking his head.

 

But Dean doesn’t seem to hear. He is staring off to the left, eyes locked on to the empty basement wall. Castiel can see an almost imperceptible quiver of Dean’s bottom lip, and he squints his eyes in wonder.

 

“Why… why did you agree to help Metatron? Why did you hide this from me, that the angels want me as their leader? I may not be leader material, but… but we could have a chance. We could make due with good numbers. Dean, why? Why did you do this for him? Why!”

 

Castiel accented his last question with a slam of his hand to the chair.

 

There was no mistaking now that Dean was trying to hold himself together. The few fingers that were not held in place by the chains quivered in the overhead lighting, casting shivering shadows over his thighs.

 

“Metatron said if I did it, he’d give me your grace back. He said after he’d made his move,” Castiel took large steps backward away from Dean, “after he made his move, he’d return your grace. He’d save you. That you’d be… that’d you’d live.”

 

“Dean,” Castiel ran a hand through his mussed hair. “No. Why? Dean, you—“

 

Cas spun around and pressed his hands over his face. With his back to his human charge, he spoke softly through his palms.

 

“Is it too late?”

 

There was no response from behind him.

 

“Is it too late to lead the angels? Has Metatron already started his spree? Is it too late?”

 

After a few more moments of silence, Castiel turned around to find Dean’s eyes squeezed tight, giving jerky nods to the basement wall. His hands were in knots, he was shaking, and glittering skin shone on top of his freckled cheeks.

 

Castiel’s entire body relaxed. His arms hung at his sides. He just stood there, what felt like an endless distance away from Dean, and observed him. Cas shook his head in confusion.

 

“You know… I mean, I know you know this was… a poor decision. Dean, this—this is beyond a poor decision. You can’t just give up against Metatron for the life of one angel—“

 

“Why not?”

 

Castiel scoffed. “Why not? Why— _Dean_.”

 

Dean’s eyes cracked open, but tears still slipped from his cheeks.

 

“Because we’re talking about all of humanity. We’re talking about a place for the angels. We’re talking about… about peace on Earth. About human decency. About _love_. About… about everything here that I’ve learned to realize is much more valuable than the angels originally thought. Dean—”

 

It was then that Castiel really registered what was happening in front of him. Dean was… Dean was _crying_. In a situation where Dean would usually be up in arms, would be yelling until the echoes were too loud to bear, in a situation where he would be the one fighting back with anger… Dean was locked up to the bone, shedding tears over… over telling Castiel he was siding with Metatron? A horrendous mistake, no doubt… but it’s not like Castiel would do anything horrible to him. It’s not as if Castiel wouldn’t eventually forgive him.

 

“Dean.”

 

“You got what you wanted, huh?” he croaked. “There it is. That’s what I’ve been hiding from you. I sided with Metatron to save your ass. There. Now, please…” he begged, his lip trembling once more, “please, stop. Let me go, Cas. _Please_ …”

 

Castiel’s brows sloped. Something in the way Dean let his name, his call _Cas_ , fall from his mouth broke something inside of Castiel that he’d fixed and fixed over and over again since the day he’d lifted him from hell.

 

“Why?”

 

“ _No_.” Dean said, his voice suddenly a thunderous roar.

 

Castiel jolted, but pressed on.

 

“Why did you do it? Why did you— did you knowingly side with Metatron to save me, when you knew, you _knew_ , that all of humanity was at stake? Why did you do it?”

 

“Because, I—“

 

“ _Dean, why_ —“

 

“Because I need you!”

 

“You have _Sam!_ ”

 

“I need _you_ , Cas. I need!—I—I love—“

 

At this, Castiel’s breath hitched, and he froze.

 

The basement wasn’t a large space. It was meant for holding things. Holding people. Demons, boxes of artifacts, books of lore that didn’t fit in the library, the King of Hell, the occasional Winchester when they were on a murderous rampage. It was not meant for holding weight. It was not meant for holding precious things. And though the space felt a thousand times smaller than what it was in that moment, it felt as if it could hold all the air, all of the heavy, dripping air Castiel would ever need to breathe again.

 

“Because I love you,” Dean said.

 

Dean’s lips flattened to a bloodless line, and his teeth chattered a few times before he was able to draw in another shuddering breath. His hands had returned to shaking, and his body seemed to pulse beneath the chains and rope. He shook his head as if surrendering to something he knew had always been inevitable, but had finally come before him, like the death of a loved one that had deteriorated more day by day. Tears slipped from his eye lashes, and he did his best to stop his mouth from twisting in a sob.

 

“Dean…”

 

“I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry, Cas_. Please, _please_ …”

 

“Dean, I—“

 

“No more, _please_. No more questions. I can’t…”

 

The breath rushed out of Castiel in tide of relief, but it immediately rolled back in as a different emotion, one that told him _what you’ve been fixing before does not need to be fixed_.

 

It seemed awkward now, to cross the distance from where he was standing to Dean. It was something he’d done hundreds of times before. He’d come into Dean’s personal space. He’d walk in and thump his back in a hug, or stand still by his side until he was recognized, unsure of what to say. He’d appear from the etheric place within arms distance, watch over him while he slept, just a foot away from his inert frame. It seemed too simple a task. But now, in the distance, in the weight of the space, it felt impossibly far away, impossible hard.

 

But Castiel stepped, foot by foot, toward the tied Winchester, despite Dean’s begging for him to go away, to leave him there. _Please_ , he called. _Please leave me here. Please_. And Castiel thought, _no. You cannot be left._

 

And when Castiel’s shins brushed Dean’s, he dropped, one heavy leg before the next, to his knees before him. He kept his eyes on Dean’s, who still had his gaze locked on the far wall. Castiel could see the glinting green, the rolling storm of shame and hatred and embarrassment tumbling over each other beneath his crumbling visage.

 

Castiel raised a hand to Dean’s cheek. He flinched back, as if afraid of a shock, a blow, but Cas’s fingers landed gently on his face, a rough thumb swiping under his damp lashes.

 

“I won’t, leave you, Dean.”

 

And Cas raised another hand to grace his other cheek. With gentle pressure he turned Dean’s resistant head towards his own until Dean could do nothing but look him in the eyes. Sea storm blue up against a shining, forest canopy green.

 

The way Cas’s fingers held his head, heavy in the weight of exhaustion long built, Dean was able to see the look the angel was giving him from just inches away, a look he’d only ever received from people much more human than Castiel.

 

And then Castiel leaned forward and kissed Dean. Lips to pink lips, his fingers sliding back across his sandpapery stubble to cradle his neck, to angle Dean into his pressing. Dean fought against his restraints toward the angel with all of his might, his mouth begging for closeness, for _body_. Both of their brows twisted in emotion, and Cas’s pinkies curved into the nape of Dean’s neck. Just what emotion it was, is indistinguishable in the English language. It was, a crescendo, maybe? A violent, abrupt end to a symphony? The grip of a cool down comforter on a heated night? It was, not so much relief. Not so much an end. But whatever it was, it was surely driven by an angel who fell a long way to find home, and a human who couldn’t resist a love like no other… and a longing to forget fixing the empty, weighted space that had always expanded in their hearts whenever they were apart— now filled, now full, now with wings.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my work! I always appreciate the Kudos and comments. I just sat down the night after Thanksgiving with an itch to write a nice angsty scene between these two. It hurt having to watch Dean go through all of that embrassament when he knew he was going to have to end up telling Cas the truth about why he did what he did... but didn't the ending make up for it? :) 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr, and you can send me Oneshot requests anytime. :) Cheers! (Tumblr: 10strawberryjam)


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